


bottom shelf

by ImberNox



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Underage Drinking, our main three survive, supporting cast in endnotes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29709768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImberNox/pseuds/ImberNox
Summary: Set after the events of DEAD/UNDEAD. Doggy and Ivan are slowly mending their relationship : now with a kid to take care of in between the cracks of their history. Their town is quiet, but a blizzard is on the way - and word of a horde of undead too large to fight off. As time counts down, Ivan leaves on orders to spread the warning while Doggy stays behind to prepare for evacuation. In the space between them, Abel learns more about their past and fits a little better into their family as a result.
Relationships: Doggie/Ivan, Hyoudou Juuza/Settsu Banri
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. campari and soda

**Author's Note:**

> a lot of this au is based in the idea that, even into the apocalypse, people would exist with skill in farming and generators and construction, etc. that small communities might still be able to keep themselves running. i'm partial to how last of us portrays towns, so think of this as a bridge between that and a little more primitive of a society (limited electricity, but plenty of agriculture and trade). aka im too attached to bartender!doggy and didn't want to care abt how he's getting his liquor haha. tags say 'long distance relationship,' but doggy and ivan are together for acts 1 and 5, plus some flashbacks and stories in acts 3 and 4. likewise the archive warning is major character death but doggy/ivan/abel are totally safe. i hope you enjoy <333

The night is slow, and the empty glasses to refill come in between long intervals of muffled chatter from separate corners of the room. Only a few groups are in the bar tonight. Not like that’s out of the norm, though. Things around town have been quiet, too. A little of the edge – the need to live in the present – has worn off.

Still makes running the bar boring.

So Doggy busies himself with chopping fruit behind the counter and tossing the small chunks into jars. He’s got one jar of strawberries going and another of rhubarb and honey. Once he’s finished shredding the last of the mint for the first jar, he’ll get around to adding the vodka and sugar.

Few customers ever order liqueur, but he reckons he can trade it by the jar if the right time ever comes around. If not, there’s always his own glass to fill up.

Abel is the only person sitting at the bar tonight. He’s sipping on lemonade that Doggy keeps around just for him, since Ivan’s been so strict on the rule about not letting Abel drink until he’s eighteen. What Ivan doesn’t know is that Doggy often slips a little rum into the drink as per Abel’s polite request. The fact that Abel wipes down the counters and tables on the nights he drinks definitely help in convincing Doggy to bend the rules.

Doggy finishes with the mint and sets the knife down. He tosses the shredded sprigs into the jar.

“Whatcha makin’?” Abel asks. He chews on the straw of his drink.

“Nothin’ a seventeen-year-old should be knowin’ ‘bout.”

Abel scowls at him, and Doggy hides his grin as he carries the cutting board and knife to the sink.

He wipes his hands off on the hand towel and slides over along the counter : reaches down and opens a cabinet to grab his bag of sugar for the month. He snatches the vodka from the countertop.

Abel eyes him as he measures out the sugar and pours it into each jar : sprinkles it over the fruit and avoids spilling any of the precious grains. Abel curls his lip. He must not like the idea of that much sugar in a jar. Doggy pours the vodka up to the neck and closes off the jars.

He shakes it up and leaves it there.

“That’s a lot of sugar,” Abel remarks. He switches bar stools and pulls the strawberry jar close to him. He scrutinizes it. “Isn’t it going to taste, you know, absolutely repulsive?”

“Ya need the sugar in order for the flavor to properly set. Otherwise ‘t just tastes bitter as shit.”

Doggy slides the sugar bag and vodka back into their places.

“Can you give me a refill?” Abel asks behind him. There’s the sound of the glass sliding on the bar top.

Doggy bends down for the mini fridge. “Just the lemonade,” he clarifies. “Ivan’s getting suspicious of how much time ya spend over here.”

“No, he ain’t.”

“Uh,” Doggy stands back up and turns around to set the lemonade jug on the bar counter. He grabs Abel’s glass. “Yeah, he is. He’s glancing over here all suspicious-like.”

Abel looks over his shoulder, and the timing is immaculate because Ivan glances over his shoulder at the exact same time. Ivan raises an eyebrow. Abel offers a cheeky wave and turns back to Doggy.

“Fuck.”

“Language.”

“Just lie and say you’re putting syrup or something in it.”

“Can’t. We’ve known each other too long to be able to lie to each other ‘nymore.”

He bends back down to shove the jug in the fridge. Straightening up, he gathers the liqueur jars in his arms and carries them into the back room.

The back room to the bar is increasingly becoming Doggy’s personal fermentation room, and all of what’s back there isn’t just for the bar. There are mustards, vinegars, onions, and the like fermenting just as much as there are liqueurs and wines distilling. He sets the jars of liqueur down and grabs one of the red onion vinegar mixes and returns to the bar proper, only to find Ivan bothering Abel at the bar.

Doggy sighs. “Leave ‘im alone. Kid’s behaving himself.”

“He was making faces at me,” Ivan argues back. “You’re not giving him anything, are you?”

“No.”

“Fuck off, I know when you’re lying.”

Abel scoffs in disbelief, and Doggy just shrugs. He begins prepping a sandwich to eat to pass the time. Closing’s still a few hours away, but he’s not busy enough filling orders to keep himself entertained otherwise. Ivan’s still glaring daggers at him, but Doggy’s used to that. He tunes out whatever piss fight they’re having and continues to slather the bread with mustard.

Then, he makes a second sandwich for Ivan.

When he offers it to Ivan on a plate, he’s thanked with a grumpy, “Didn’t ask but thanks, I guess,” and Ivan tears into the thing. Abel grimaces in disgust.

“Don’t you have table manners?”

“Says the robot-zombie to the actual fucking human.”

“Piss off!”

Ivan simply chuckles.

In a bastardization of the word, Doggy supposes that things are ‘healing.’

For a while there – for a long while there after Roy’s death – Doggy hadn’t been sure that Ivan would ever get out of his rut. It had taken a toll on them. They hadn’t really argued or anything. It was quiet : how they drifted apart until they barely recognized each other when Ivan came back knocking for tips or info or, some nights, just a drink. The worst of it was when Ivan vanished. For months, sometimes, Doggy didn’t even catch wind of him.

All Doggy could do was serve his patrons night after night in hospitable amicability, trading information and secrets, not knowing if he’d ever hear Ivan’s name again. He had gotten angrier at Ivan, too, over time.

But then, Ivan had come home with Abel and a long story.

The long story hadn’t been the first thing that they talked about, though. The first night, Ivan had drank half of Doggy’s whole stock of bourbon before sobbing pools of tears, soaking Doggy’s shirt, lying on top of him on the ratty couch upstairs. At some point, Ivan had admitted that he’d finally laid Roy’s corpse to rest.

Abel hadn’t seen any of that. And Doggy hadn’t mentioned it to him, either, because he knew that Ivan wanted to include Abel in their broken little family as normally as possible : without the ghost of Roy haunting their interactions.

But, yeah, things are ‘healing.’

Ivan’s around more than he is gone. He drinks for the fun of it with friends and doesn’t hole up for days with a whole box of bottles. And Doggy’s stopped carrying around with himself that despicable tin flask. Seeing Ivan now, chatting with Abel in between bites of his sandwich, Doggy hopes that things are going to stay steady with them for as long as possible.

One of the patrons comes up to the bar, asking for refills at the table by the windows. Doggy obliges, setting down his food to wash his hands. He grabs a tray of cups and bottles to make the group’s next round of Last Words.

It’s a common drink to order the night before going out hunting. A hunter drinks a Last Word as his last drink of the evening before the dawn of his departure, and, upon return, their first hot meal is on the house.

At the table, while shaking their drinks, he asks if they’d like anything for grub – as a sort of bonus going-away favor – and he gets a selfishly long list of orders. He raises an eyebrow at the one guy who asks for a whole burger, but he can’t very well rescind an offer once it’s been made.

He returns to the bar with the list repeating itself in his mind : sets the tray down, wipes off the stove and starts the heat.

“Want help?” Ivan offers. He sips from Abel’s lemonade glass, evidently having evicted Abel from drinking privileges for the rest of the night.

“Nah, but Abel can.” When Abel starts to complain, Doggy merely points to the bottle of rum that he had put into Abel’s cup earlier.

Abel mumbles a curse and earns himself a swat from Ivan.

As much as Abel likes to complain about being in the kitchen, he’s grown surprisingly capable in the short time that Doggy’s been teaching him. No longer does Doggy have to watch over Abel’s shoulder to make sure the meat’s being cooked to the correct order, nor double-check that any of the fried food’s getting burned nor overly greasy. Abel’s a quick learner. It’s likely why he managed to get so good at hunting so quickly even without a community to teach him and feed him.

Doggy’s just glad that they work around each other well in the kitchen.

Ivan keeps them company for a little while into their prep but then wanders off to the table of hunters once his glass runs empty. Soon, laughter’s barking out from the group, and Doggy _knows_ it’s because Ivan’s said something witty and clever enough to break their tense atmosphere. He’s naturally charismatic in a way that Doggy still envies, but the pangs of jealousy aren’t nearly as barbed as they had been in their childhood.

Besides, Doggy’s already learned well that his crude humor can go just as far Ivan’s rowdy liveliness.

With Ivan in their circle, and the free inflow of bar food, the hunters’ outing turns into a fairly loud party. Some of the other patrons join them at the table, requesting drinks. Abel offers to help pour, and Doggy shoots that down : chains Abel to the fryer for the rest of the night to keep the basket of fries at the table full.

And once the small party is over, and the hunters walk out together leaning on each other and singing merry songs into the dark night, Ivan’s still giggling at the table at a joke that had been said five minutes ago. Doggy sighs and loads his arms with what he can carry to the sink for now.

“Is he always like that when he gets drunk?” Abel asks. He watches Ivan bang the table with a fresh round of laughter.

“Usually.”

Ivan stands up from the table and snatches a few empty glasses.

“I hear you talking about me!” he calls in a voice that’s slightly too loud for the now-empty bar, and he saunters over on relatively steady feet with his armload. “You failed to mention the fact that I do some things a lot better when I’m drunk.” He sets the glasses in the sink and winks at Doggy before breaking into a peal of snickers.

Abel grimaces. “Ew.”

Doggy rolls his eyes.

Ivan leans against the bar and fingers at the bottle of maraschino liqueur that goes into the Last Word. Doggy ignores the pointed request for another drink and turns instead to put away the gin and Chartreuse.

“You make a good drink,” Ivan purrs at him.

Doggy’s heard that from a _lot_ of patrons. Most of them looking to bed the tall and dark bartender before they head off on what could end up being their last hunt. As far as compliments go, it’s pretty standard. There’s something a little different about the way that Ivan says it, though : or, rather, the way he _means_ it.

Ivan’s gone on a lot of hunts, and he’s come back from them all without many scratches. He’s lost partners before. He lost Roy. But Ivan, even on solo hunts, has a certain skill with the way he takes care of things, and he’s enjoyed return parties more than most. He’s drank more of what Doggy can mix than any other person in the town.

So, when Ivan compliments Doggy’s bartending skills, it goes a little beyond the drink.

Doggy steps close to Ivan and offers him a kiss on the cheek as he steals the maraschino from Ivan’s hold. Abel gags in the background. And Ivan sticks his tongue out at the kid before he wraps an arm around Doggy’s waist and kisses Doggy deep. He tastes like cherries and herbs, and Doggy pulls away after a minute to give a second, chaste kiss to Ivan’s cheek.

“Ya taste like the nights before you go away on a hunt,” he tells Ivan, and this seems to pull Ivan a little closer to sobriety.

He lets Doggy go put the maraschino away.

“It’s like seeing your grandparents kiss,” Abel complains. “Worse, actually. You two _are_ old men, and I’m not required to stick around.”

“But you stick around anyway,” Ivan laughs.

Abel’s face goes red to match his ears. “I can leave whenever I want!”

“Sure, kid, sure.”

Doggy snorts at the incomprehensible little grumble Abel huffs under his breath. With all the bottles put away, he picks up the bustling tray and carries it into the kitchen. Ivan and Abel trail after him for company. Ivan steals a cup from a cabinet and fills it with water at the sink. He leans against the counter just beside Doggy as Doggy begins the dishes. Abel sits on the stepstool.

“When’s your next hunt?” Doggy asks.

It’s been a good three months since the last time Ivan went away. It’s not their longest streak staying together in this shitty outpost of a town, but it’s getting there.

“Probably in a few days,” Ivan takes a sip of his water. “Cheren’s being a bitch about me staying inside the fence, so I gotta go out soon. I don’t know _what_ he’s expecting from me, though. There’s nothing in the next fifty miles of value.”

“And me?”

Ivan waves his glass at Abel. “Nah, kid, you’re staying behind for this one. Cheren thinks it’s too dangerous for anyone who doesn’t have at least five years seniority.”

Doggy sets down the glass he’s washing and turns to Ivan. Ivan, after a moment, turns to meet his gaze.

“How dangerous?”

Ivan laughs but seems to realize it’s not the correct response when Doggy only frowns further. “Don’t worry about it.” Doggy narrows his eyes. “Really! Really, man, don’t worry about it.” Ivan lays a hand on his shoulder and gives him a lopsided grin. “When have I ever _not_ come back?”

“Don’t like when ya say that. Makes it feel like the next time ya leave’ll be the time ya finally never come back.”

“Don’t say it like it’s my destiny or somethin.’”

Doggy turns back to washing the glasses and bowls in the sink. There’s a little while of silence. Ivan drinks his water. Abel picks at his nails.

“It’ll be me, Herschel, Kane, and Milan heading out this time,” Ivan says. “Just the four of us. For about a month.”

Doggy sets a bowl on the drying rack. “Month’s a fair amount of time.”

It’s the middle of fall now. Pretty soon, the annual snowstorms – harsh and unforgiving in their negative temperatures – will hit. The undead usually settle down in the colder months of the year, but bandit groups and wanderers only grow more desperate. It’s not the same as the confused and furious _anger_ that usually drives those same groups in the summer, but it’s more dangerous.

Ivan nods quietly. He finishes off his cup of water and sets it down. Doggy picks it up and starts washing it.

“What’s the point?” Abel questions. “What are you guys even supposed to be doing?”

Ivan shrugs. “Word has it Ilia’s group will be passing through the southern canyon roads in a few weeks. Cheren wants us to head them off and exchange information. Most importantly, I guess, he wants us to pick Ishmael up.”

“Why dun’ he pick up Ishmael himself?” Doggy snaps. “He can get his own damn husband.”

“Don’t ask me. He’s busy, I guess. He _is_ the one running this town.”

Doggy has more thoughts on the subject, but he keeps his mouth shut. Better than starting an argument. With Ivan’s glass clean, the dishes are done for the evening. Doggy unplugs the drain and lets the soapy water slowly drain out of the basin.

“What time is it?” Ivan yawns.

Abel checks his watch. “Like 11.”

“Fuck, that’s too late.”

“Grandpa.”

“Watch it,” Doggy grunts. “We’re still in our twenties.”

“So? I’m still a teenager.”

They file out of the kitchen, and Doggy catches the lights after them. They say their good-nights and part ways : Ivan and Doggy one-after-the-other up the stairs in the back and Abel off to one of the side rooms, where they’ve set up a small living space for the kid in what had previously been an inn suite.

Doggy and Ivan’s space, in contrast, takes up the whole of the second floor, though they don’t use all of it. All they really use is the kitchen, master bedroom, and the bathroom. The other bedroom on the floor, the one they haven’t gone into in years, used to be Roy’s. And as much as they like Abel and have no qualms about taking care of the kid, they’re not going to give him Roy’s old bedroom.

Ivan catches Doggy after he’s done in the bathroom and pulls him into the bedroom.

“Can I make it up to you?” Ivan asks, expression sweet, as he tugs on Doggy’s hands. “You know.”

“Wish you’d tell me these things earlier.”

“I know,” Ivan sits down on the bed. “But I hate the way you get when ya know I’m leaving. Understand why I keep quiet ‘bout it ‘til the last few days.”

Doggy sighs. He goes around to his side of the bed and pulls back the old quilt. He pulls off his day clothes and hangs them on the hangers dangling from the window’s curtain rod. His bed shirt, lying under the quilt, is snatched up and pulled on. Doggy sits down to pull off his socks.

At the same time, Ivan crawls up the bed and sits behind Doggy. Hands press down on Doggy’s shoulders, and Ivan’s lips are close to his ear. The ghost of a kiss scratches the ear lobe.

“Understand why I hate it when ya keep these things from me,” Doggy grumbles.

“When haven’t I come back?”

Doggy scoffs. Yet, he lets himself get dragged a little into the whirlwind of confidence that is Ivan. He turns around to kiss Ivan, and they take it slow. Ivan’s hands slip away from his shoulders : find Doggy’s thighs and waist.

“Remember it’s not just me ‘nymore,” Doggy takes the chance to say when Ivan lays him down. “Ya got a kid, too, now.”

“He’s not _my_ kid,” Ivan gumbles. He lifts Doggy’s hips up to rest on his thighs : moved his hands up to Doggy’s chest to tease.

“Bullshit. He has a room in our house. You’ve saved each other how many times.”

Ivan flicks Doggy’s arm with one hand. “Don’t ruin the mood.”

“You’re the one that wanted to get laid. You’re in charge of keeping the mood if ya wanna get off.”

“Ugh.” Ivan leans back and glares down at Doggy. “You’re fucking annoying.”

“So I’ve heard.” Ivan gives him a rude hand gesture. “Mean it ‘bout Abel, though. Ya owe it t’him to come back.”

“Partner and child,” Ivan drawls unamusedly. “Great.”

“This _partner_ wants to sleep, so jerk off some place else if you’re that on-edge.”

Ivan makes an offended noise in his throat. Doggy dodges the swipe Ivan aims at his boxers and pulls himself back. He gets himself under the quilt too quick for Ivan to stop : smirks when Ivan scowls at him. He means it, though. It’s too late, and he has to get up early tomorrow to start distilling the last of the wheat and rye harvest.

And Ivan must not be as desperate as he has pitched himself to be because, by the time Doggy’s blowing out the light, Ivan’s pulling him into his arms for the evening. In the darkness of the room, Ivan exhales long and warm against Doggy’s neck. Doggy hums in return.

“What is it?”

“I love my big teddy bear,” Ivan teases, squeezing him tight.

“Suck a dick.”

“Would’ve, but someone wasn’t in the mood tonight.”

Doggy rolls his eyes. He waits for Ivan to admit the real reason he’s sighing like that.

“Haven’t left in a while, I guess,” Ivan mumbles after a minute. His words puff the small hairs on Doggy’s neck, and he shivers slightly to get Ivan a little higher and away from that sensitive spot. Ivan adjusts accordingly. “The drinks tonight brought it all back.”

“You’ve been away longer than before.”

Ivan shifts. There’s a hesitation before he whispers, “I never apologized for that, did I?”

“You were grieving. I was grieving. People do stupid things when they grieve.”

Ivan inhales deep : lets it all out in a long sigh. Doggy has the nagging suspicion he’s thinking about more than he’s saying. “Thanks for giving yourself to me. I know ya don’t like settling down, you alley mutt.”

“What was I gonna do? Say no?”

“You could’ve.”

Doggy sighs. “Wasn’t gonna say no, fucker. I liked ya a lot even when I was a kid.”

Ivan hums. “I know.” He hugs Doggy again. “Besides, I don’t know what I’d have done without my big, strong German Shepherd.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Screw you, I’m _hilarious_.”

When it comes time for Ivan to leave town with his group, Doggy makes sure to have his stocks ready for the occasion. Ivan invites all the team members over for dinner in the bar, and Doggy lets him extend the offer to their partners. Even Abel’s given the special privilege of a single drink, courtesy of Ivan’s reluctant approval.

That evening, a blizzard blows into town. The frigid temperatures seep through wood and stone, reaching out for them all.

Doggy starts a fire in the hearth of the bar area : drags a charcoal stove under the table for good measure. Outside, the snow and ice roars through the narrow alleys. The wind howls in a great, unending barrage. The roof and walls of the buildings creak.

It follows that, between the weather and the gravity of the mission they’re to embark on, not all of the team members bring along their partners. But all of the members do show.

Milan’s the first in through the door : his face wind-nipped and ice-bitten. Abel helps him peel off two of his three outer layers before he joins them at the table and tucks his legs under the blanket and close to the charcoal stove.

Milan’s not a talkative fellow. Rarely does he say more than what’s needed for the most essential of communication. Tonight is no exception, but it’s a different type of silence. He’s failed to bring along Sammy and Yuri, and neither Doggy nor Ivan is about to pry into private matters. Doggy offers him a hot mug of milk and honey to warm up with. Milan takes it and mumbles thanks before holding it close to his body and watching the fire.

They start off the night like that. Abel and Ivan chat – Ivan drinking a glass of water to start and Abel working his way through his own mug of warm milk – and Doggy folds together a pastry to begin baking in the wood oven. Milan offers a word here and there. He seems to get along well enough with Abel.

Doggy refills Milan’s mug twice before Kane stumbles in through the door with Mickey glued to his side. With Kane present, the get-together significantly picks up in volume.

“Sorry, we’re late! This weather is such a bummer, Mimi and I didn’t wanna leave our home,” Kane peels off his boots. “But it’s nice and toasty in here! Wow, Dogs, my man, is that a pastry baking? Smells great!”

Mickey unravels his scarves slowly and waves. Ivan raises his hand back in greeting.

The couple bounce over to the table and take their seats on Ivan’s side, Mickey curling up to Kane’s side to get cozy. Doggy grabs two more mugs and fills them with milk from the kettle.

“Thanks!” Kane enthuses. Mickey nods his thanks with a cheery smile as Kane takes a sip. “Mm! Babe, your stuff is always the best.”

“Oi,” Ivan makes a clear kick for Kane’s ankle.

“Not trying to steal your man, Van! I got Mimi all to myself.”

Mickey gives a small, happy hum.

Kane is an _interesting_ member of their small town. He’s certainly the loudest. Doggy’s never found himself seeking out Kane’s company, nor has he ever really been sure how to act around Kane. The slick, dirty humor that Doggy’s used to spouting around his group of friends doesn’t exactly match with the bright-eyed and optimistic enthusiasm that Kane seems to endlessly exude.

But Kane’s wicked good with everything he does, much like Mickey, and they make a hell of a power team around town : helping with the odds and ends of every job that comes up. It’s not surprising that Cheren’s chosen Kane for this task, though it _is_ fairly surprising that Milan’s been chosen over Mickey.

Maybe that’s why Sammy and Yuri are at home rather than here. This will be Milan’s first long-time venture beyond the fence, and such milestones are incredibly difficult for those left behind. Milan’s at a greater risk than the other team members, too. He’s only just starting his seventh year hunting, and he’s only nineteen still.

Ivan and Kane get along incredibly well, though, and they’re both the big brother type. Neither of them will see Milan _not_ make it back. Even in their conversation now, Kane and Ivan leave room in between their turns for Milan to mumble the occasional word or two, but they never let the pause drag long enough for it to seem like they’re waiting on Milan to say something.

“Oh, Dogs!” Kane calls. “Can I start with a drink already? Or are we waiting for Hershey to show up before we begin?”

Milan snorts. “He might not even show.”

“That’s mean, Millie! You gotta give everyone a chance to join before you really begin a party.”

Milan shrugs.

“What’d ya want?” Doggy asks, going for the cabinet of glasses. His hand hovers over the type of glass for Kane’s usual order as he waits for Kane’s answer.

“Uhhhhhhh,” Kane quickly scans the wall of bottles behind the bar. “Just whiskey for me!” Mickey whispers something into Kane’s ear. “And some coffee, if you can spare any!”

Doggy pulls out his French press : his prize steal from an abandoned town years ago. He sets another kettle on the stove – this time filled with water – and turns the flame on.

“You drinkin’, Milan?” Doggy asks. Milan’s only just barely of-age, and Doggy hasn’t seen him in his bar even once the entire time it’s been open. Even Sammy rarely comes in.

Milan shrugs. “Never drank before.”

“Aw, man!” Kane cheers. “We’ll be your guides into a world of gentle pleasure. Here’s my advice : start slow!”

Ivan waves a hand to shut Kane up. “No pressure, kid. Doggy’s got non-alcoholic stuff, too. Abel’s gotta drink _something_.”

“I can handle alcohol plenty well!”

They collectively ignore Abel. Milan turns in his chair and looks up at the wall. He scans over it slowly, and Doggy leans on the bar top. When Milan doesn’t say anything at length, Ivan meets Doggy’s eyes and pricks up an eyebrow in expectation.

“Most of those’re pretty heavy,” Doggy warns. “I can get ya something a lot easier to start with.”

Milan turns his head to face Doggy slightly. His white earmuffs fall off a little. “Like what?”

“Well, what kinda flavors do ya like?” Milan frowns. Doggy lists some of the options, “Fruits? Chocolate? Coffee? Nuts?”

Milan chews his lip. “Coffee or chocolate’s fine.”

Doggy hums and eyes his shelves. “Could give ya a Chocolate-Covered Strawberry.”

“Like,” the confusion on Milan’s face is all too palpable. “Like the dessert?”

Kane and Ivan burst into laughter. Mickey hides a smile behind Kane’s shoulder. Abel takes one glance at the adults and joins in, even though Doggy knows Abel has no idea why they’re laughing. Milan flushes a dark red. Doggy allows himself to chuckle, too.

“Sorta,” Doggy admits. “’s coffee liqueur and strawberry and cognac with chocolate syrup. Real sweet.”

Milan considers this before he stands up from the table. “Can I watch you make it?”

“Sure. Come on over.”

Milan slinks over to Doggy’s side in the bar area, watches as Doggy pours the whiskey for Kane and Mickey.

“Ya wanna try makin’ it yourself?”

“Uh.”

“No pressure,” Doggy nudges the kid lightly in the arm. “Just tryin’ t’make you comfortable.”

Doggy wipes the rim of the whiskey bottle and turns to try finding his coffee grinder. As he’s rummaging through the drawers, the door to the bar opens. A fierce gust of icy wind rips through the open space. Choruses of complaints arise from the table.

Herschel kicks the snow off his boots in the doorway before he closes the door. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I guess I’m the last one here.”

“Such a chilly hello,” Kane complains. “Where’s the energy? Forget it at home?”

“You’re much less funny than you think you are,” Herschel remarks, and sets to taking off his coats. Kane deflates in his seat. “Horatius apologizes that he’s not coming.”

“He wasn’t excited about venturing through a blizzard for drinks?” Ivan jokes.

Herschel doesn’t react. “Had a big fight.”

The mood of the room plummets. Ivan looks like he’d like to eat his words right about now. Kane winces. “Oof, dude, you sure you wanna be here and not with him?”

“He wanted space, and I wanted drinks.”

Herschel crosses the room to the table and takes a seat beside Abel. They exchange a nod of greeting.

“If you’re sure.” Kane leans down with his elbows on the table. “Lots of fights tonight, huh? First Millie shows up solo, now you, too.”

Milan stiffens. “It wasn’t a fight-”

“S’okay, Milan,” Ivan cuts him off with a kind smile and a wave of the hand. “We all get into them. It’s part of being a hunter or something like that.”

Milan throws Doggy a cautious glance, and Doggy nods in affirmation. Milan shifts a little on the stool.

“It wasn’t big,” he still insists. “They just didn’t like that I was going away for so long with the snow season coming.”

Doggy whole-heartedly agrees with Sammy and Yuri’s feelings on the matter. But with Herschel, Ivan, Kane, and Milan all present, voicing that would only result in hurt feelings. So, he does his job as bartender and eases the mood and sets Milan’s guilt at ease.

“We all gotta do difficult things for the sake of a better future.”

“I’d drink to that, but I see my drink’s still on the counter.” Kane outstretches a hand and makes a ‘gimme’ motion. “I’m dying, Dogs. Give a man a drink, will ya?”

Doggy rolls his eyes and gets up to deliver the drink.

Herschel eyes the others’ drinks while he’s at the table. “Hot milk with whatever you wanna put in,” he requests. “Vodka preferred.”

Doggy hammers through heating up more milk and stirring Herschel’s drink before he gets to sit down and properly go through the motions – slowly – of making a Chocolate Covered Strawberry. Milan’s eyes trace his every movement from the starting rim dip to the ending strawberry garnish.

Doggy gathers a few of the appetizers he’s prepped and carries them over to the table while Milan cautiously makes the short distance with his martini glass.

“Go slow on that,” Ivan advises Milan. “Like give it a bit between sips.”

Milan glances to Doggy. Doggy nods. Slowly, Milan risks his first sip. The rest of them wait eagerly for Milan’s rating of his first drink. Milan pulls away and slowly licks his lips of the syrup, pondering the taste.

Finally, he announces, “Good.”

Kane offers a high five that doesn’t get returned.

They go through a good few rounds of drinks together. Milan and Abel keep to their one drink of the evening (with the exception of Milan’s ritual Last Word) and spent the rest of their time eating the snacks that Doggy keeps stocked on the table. They also manage to drink their way through an alarming amount of lemonade (for Abel) and hot chocolate (for Milan). Doggy will be spending some time replenishing those stocks after tonight.

They talk about their home lives, their partners, the weather. At one point, the conversation bounces onto whatever ridiculous folktale Kane’s trying to pass off as reality to get a scare out of Abel and Milan, but both the kids are too straight-laced to buy into it, and only Mickey ends up spooked. They pull out a board game from the bookcase along the far wall of the bar and play a few rounds together, collecting paper money and moving their plastic cars along the spaces.

A horrific betrayal occurs when Mickey sells his property to Ivan, effectively cheating Kane out of any chance at victory.

Then, increasingly drowsy as the night’s time ticks away, they push the board game to the side and lay their heads down on the table. They talk about the future, then. Ivan and Herschel hold their alcohol well. They don’t say much. Kane blabbers his mouth away. Mickey curls into his side.

It’s well past midnight when they agree to pack it up for the evening. Doggy gets up for the bustling tray, and a few of the guys at the table lean back and stretch their arms out tiredly. Milan is the first to stand.

He mumbles a thanks and a goodnight and something about getting back to Sammy and Yuri before they stop waiting up for him. They respond with a chorus of good-byes and goodnights. Herschel is the next to tear away from their group, offers about the same good-bye as Milan and offers Doggy his ration of sugar for the month as a gift.

Then, once Doggy’s finished the dishes and returned to the table, Kane and Mickey stretch and crawl out from the table’s blanket.

“I think it’s time for us to head, too,” Kane says. Abel is half-asleep on the table. “Thanks so much for hosting, Dogs, Van. It’s been a while since I had a send-off this big. Those Last Words at the very end were killer, man.”

He wisely does not bring up the way Herschel had cried his way through the last half of his glass, nor the strange look that had been on Milan’s face at having his first farewell drink.

“Always welcome,” Doggy replies.

And, finally, in the way he’s known this night will end, Kane turns to Ivan. “You coming with us tonight?”

Ivan nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I got my things by the door over there already.” Kane glances over to the door and clicks his tongue upon seeing the bags.

Abel raises his head from the table. “Wait, you’re leaving now?”

Doggy and Ivan share a short glance.

“Uh, yeah,” Ivan admits. “We ain’t good at properly saying good-bye. Usually, Doggy and I… don’t spend the last night together.”

He leaves out the fact that, until now, Ivan had never bothered telling Doggy he was heading out in the first place. That was for Doggy to figure out himself after enough days of not hearing word.

Kane leans over to whisper something to Mickey. Abel turns to Doggy with accusation clear in his eyes.

“You didn’t tell me this.”

Doggy shrugs. “Didn’t think too much ‘bout it.”

“I want you to stay,” Abel argues. Ivan winces.

“Kid-”

“You can sleep in my room if you don’t want to see Doggy.”

Ivan sighs. Doggy lays a cautious hand on Abel’s back. Abel immediately shrugs it off.

“You gotta respect a man’s parting wish,” he tells him. Abel goes to argue, but Doggy shakes his head and sighs. “I can stay with you if you want company.”

Abel’s face scrunches up a little. “I don’t need company!” he snaps.

Mickey curls his fingers into the pockets of Kane’s jacket. “Abel’s a good boy,” he encourages. “Ivan will come home. Kane, too. Milan and Herschel.”

Doggy wishes he could speak with the same confidence. Abel simply nods and continues to slouch.

They walk the three to the door and stand with them as they pack up to head back out into the storm. Doggy helps Ivan check his luggage and ties the scarf around his neck. Abel hovers by their side. Kane and Mickey stand further away, faced away a little to give them a private moment.

Ivan clasps Abel’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze and a smile. Neither of them is great with sappy emotions, and they’re not touchy people, either. Then, Ivan turns to Doggy and hesitates.

“I’ll be back before winter fully hits,” Ivan promises.

Abel shifts his weight from foot to foot. “You better,” he mutters.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ivan offers the kid a grin. “Alright, I’m off.”

Doggy pulls the door open, and Kane and Mickey wave good-bye before ducking out. The harsh blast of frigid air makes Abel and Doggy flinch back into the bar. Ivan offers them a wave – and, to Doggy, a small, worried frown – before he steps out and disappears into the swirls of white.


	2. whiskey on the rocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan, Herschel, Kane, and Millie continue to make it over the mountain ranges in the middle of winter. A twist of events forces them to split up just long enough for Ivan and Herschel to draw ahead by a few days. Meanwhile, back at home, Doggy and Abel find out that their town leader's been keeping quiet about a lethal threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kinda wanna play this au in the early resident evils style... i wanna hear them all have the really cheesy wooden dialogue like "Dont Open That Door" or "I Have THIS" lol doggy delivering lines like he's wesker...

The wind buffets their bodies as they stumble their way up the slope of the mountainside. Their legs sink into the deep snow banks. The snow’s piled over itself thick enough that each step forwards piles more powder up their thighs. They trudge slowly, and the snow crunches under their movements. The wind gusts sweep over the mountain summits and echo into the valley far below them and out of sight : deafeningly loud. They pass an old, frozen deer carcass.

“Ivan!” Kane yells over the noise of the storm. He’s in the back of their group and far from Ivan’s position at the front of their line. Ivan can’t even see him through the snow. “We need to take shelter soon!”

Ivan looks up to the sky : covered in grey and flinging about blindingly sharp bits of ice. There’s no way to tell how late in the day it is. But Kane is likely right. The temperature feels as if it’s dropping, and such a change usually indicates the setting of the sun. They don’t want to be left outside once the light vanishes.

“Once we get over to the other side!” Ivan calls back. “There’s a safe house not far!”

“How safe?” Herschel asks.

“Does it matter? It has a fireplace and wood!”

“Milan’s falling asleep!” Kane yells up to them. “How far is it?”

Ivan squints, but he can’t make out anything beyond Herschel. He’ll have to trust their rope chain – or Kane – to pull Milan along if the boy passes out from the weather and exhaustion.

“‘Bout an hour!” he answers.

He’s not sure if it’ll be that easy to get to the safe house. The next valley over has a dangerously high population of black bears that, this early in the season, won’t be hibernating yet. There’s also the threat of undead, should they stumble across a horde, and hostile humans, if any have taken claim to the house.

They push on through the wind and snow.

There are a lot of folktales about early snowstorms. They’re almost always filled with warnings of death and loss : bear gods and elk gods and the _bakemono_ that manifest from the snow and woods. A voice in the winds of blizzards said to numb the body until a man stops moving and freezes over. An elk god that stands amongst the trees to watch a dying man pass, then steps over the body to loosen the soul still attached. A bear god that carries corpses of the dead back into its den to care for like a cub until the spring weather allows the dead to move on into their next life.

Most of these are ridiculous stories for children, old people, and the superstitious. Ivan’s never poured much faith nor thought into them.

Herschel’s more superstitious than the rest of them. Over the fire tonight, if they’re awake enough for it, he might tell them all a few stories to pass the evening hours. Herschel doesn’t have the charm that his husband does when it comes to storytelling, but there’s a quiet manner in his voice that gets your bones chilled even if you don’t buy into the truthfulness of his words.

Maybe Herschel will tell a good one tonight for the kid’s ears.

Ivan and Herschel hand off lead position in their group back-and-forth to spare each other some of the exhaustion of having to cut through the snow. Milan slumps over about halfway through the last leg of the journey, and Ivan ends up tripping on the tight rope before he realizes it’s growing short on his end. He goes back to haul the kid onto his back, hands Milan over to Kane halfway through the trek.

They reach the safe house a few hours later than Ivan had hoped. The sun has long since gone down. They’re cold, and they’ve gotten lost four times trying to find the property. It’s on gut instinct and vague memories that Ivan manages to get them close enough to hear the squeaking of the old, rusted gate. Turns out that freezing to death’s a lot easier than it sounds, had they not finally picked up on that sound over the howling of the storm. But the small ease in the wind just for a moment had been enough.

Ivan pushes the old gate open leans on the cold metal for a moment’s relief. His feet are killing him, even though he can barely feel any of his toes in his boots.

Herschel stumbles through not soon after, and they lead Kane – who still bears Milan on his back – up the path to the old house.

“I’ll check the perimeter,” Herschel tells them and draws his gun out from its holster. “Ivan, check the house. Kane has Milan.”

“Don’t take long,” Ivan warns.

Herschel nods and turns out to the snow once more.

Ivan fiddles with the doorknob to the house. It’s frozen – or rusted – shut. It barely jostles when he rattles it. So, he throws his weight against it repeatedly, hopefully grinding off the rust or ice that’s got it sealed shut. It finally does bang open, and Ivan falls right through the doorway to the ground.

Kane drops Milan in the snow and sweeps into the house past Ivan, gun out, waiting for any undead or unwanted company to show themselves.

But there’s nothing in the little one-room house, and so they carry Milan in after a few seconds’ check. They have a fire going by the time Herschel comes in, kicking snow off his clothes and boots. Ivan searches through the side kitchenette for anything edible : or anything to cook in. He ends up dragging out two pots, a few cans of beans, a bag of rice, and some canned tomato sauce from the pantry.

Herschel ends up taking one of the pots to fill with snow. They’ll melt that into water before they start cooking. Kane drifts over into the kitchen, too.

“Woah,” Kane hums and picks up the can of tomato sauce. “This is like the luckiest place. There more in there?”

“Yeah, there’s a buncha stuff. Kinda feel bad we don’t have anything left that we can afford to put in the pantry for others.”

“Can’t help that one. But, hey, it’ll be good to have some heartier food for Milan.” They glance towards the boy lying by the fire, stripped of his cold and wet clothes and wrapped in the blankets from the couches. “I’m worried about how he’s handling things so far, y’know?”

“He’s never been out this long before,” Ivan shrugs. “Can’t blame a kid for something like this.”

Herschel comes back in through the door with his pot of snow and carries it over to the fireplace : hangs it from the hook there. Ivan and Kane gather on the floor beside Herschel and Milan and slowly shrug off their outer layers. They hang up the clothes to dry and peel off their socks.

Kane lies down and wraps an arm around Milan to share warmth. Herschel and Ivan recline against the back of the couch.

Once the snow’s melted, Herschel takes over the responsibility of cooking. He cooks the beans and sets them aside, then uses the leftover water to cook the rice. Kane falls asleep as the rice simmers. Ivan finds himself nodding off, too, until the scent of cooking tomato brings him back.

“Almost done,” Herschel tells him. “Get some silverware, and I’ll wake these two.”

It ends up taking quite some time for them to wake Milan up. But once the kid is awake, he tears into his portion of food just as ravenously as the rest of them do. They’re not starved yet, but they’re _hungry_. Eating beef jerky for two days straight has hollowed their stomachs something mighty.

Kane groans. “Van, my man, I cannot express to you how much I miss your cute little boyfriend’s cooking. This stuff just doesn’t compare. Love ya though, Hershey.” Herschel grunts.

Ivan’s not sure he’d describe Doggy as ‘ _little_ ,’ but ‘cute’ was definitely right on the mark. An image of Doggy, face flushed with embarrassment, comes to mind, and he smiles in spite of himself. And, if he thinks back, Doggy had been little once, too.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I miss a lot about him.”

Kane mimes gagging, and Ivan swats at him. Herschel hides a smile behind a bite of rice and beans.

Milan sets his empty bowl down and curls up under the blankets. “Can I take middle shift tonight?”

“You need rest,” Herschel chides. “Don’t worry about taking a shift tonight.”

“Yeah, man, the last thing we want is for you to get sick.”

Milan grimaces. “I didn’t realize it would be this difficult. I’m sorry for being a burden.”

Kane slumps back against the floor and throws an arm around Milan’s shoulders. “Don’t say stuff like that, Millie! It’s a difficult hunt. We’re all struggling, too.” Milan continues to frown. “I’m super duper cold, Hershey’s old hip injury’s acting up, and Van’s losing his edge already.”

“Excuse you, I am _not_.”

“See how short his temper gets on a hunt? Scary stuff.”

Ivan sighs and endures the smirks Herschel and Kane throw his way. Milan’s too ill to partake in fireside jests, but he’s steadily relaxing the more that Kane talks. Not soon later, the kid falls asleep once more. His soft, congested snores fill the pauses in the older three’s conversation.

Herschel takes their dishes to the sink and then returns. They sit in silence for a while longer.

The fire crackles, though the sound of it doesn’t give their spirits much warmth.

“What do we do if he does get sick? Like real sick?” Kane asks in a tone so soft it’s nearly a whisper. “Like,” he glances between the two of them, “we can’t take him any further if he wakes up feeling like he’s got clouds in his head.”

“We wait, I guess. I mean, even if we wanted to split up and have one of us take him back, we can’t just throw him right back out into this weather.”

Herschel hums. “We don’t have much time. If it comes to that, I’ll press on ahead.”

Kane’s grimace tells Ivan that he’s just as displeased with that idea as Ivan is. They take turns drinking the rest of the hot water in the pot.

“Have any ghost stories?” Ivan finally asks Herschel. “Remembered a few of yours earlier.”

“Oh yeah! Hershey, give us a good one!”

Herschel blinks slowly and takes a minute to think. He leans against the wall. “I could tell you about Cheren and my story.”

Kane brightens. “I haven’t heard this one yet!”

“Me neither. Sure we shouldn’t wake the kid up for this one? Not every day a new story comes outta your mouth.”

“It’s not a story for those new to hunting.”

The cheer in Kane’s face dissipates. Ivan eyes Herschel. Words like those are a good indicator of a sad tale or of a tale that triggers all of the worst fears of a hunter. But he nods and lets Herschel continue.

“Have you ever gotten lost in the snow?” Herschel asks. Kane and Ivan share a look before shaking their heads. Herschel nods and lowers his gaze to his hands. “Cheren and I did. Not together : separately.”

“Like. Before you guys were with August?”

“Yeah. Before that.”

Herschel takes his last sip of water.

“I don’t know exactly how it happened to Cheren. When it happened to me, I was dying. It was cold, I was starved, and I had horrible wounds from my previous encounter with a group of undead. At the time, I was trying to get to find someplace to die where my corpse wouldn’t just lie out in the open.

“And, then, there was something ahead that looked like a fire. I followed it : thinking there might be a camp or people that I could at least steal from. But no matter how much I walked, the light didn’t seem to get any closer. Eventually I wore myself out. I collapsed into the snow and lay there dying. It must have been hours. But that’s when August found me.

“He brought me back to his base, where I met Cheren, and they nursed me back to health. Then, a few years later when I talked with Cheren about the time I met them – this was after August had died – he told me that he had seen something similar in the snow just before August found him. Both times, it was completely by chance that we wandered onto August’s hunting trail.

“So,” Herschel shrugs, “it’s not much of a story, necessarily. But if you ever see a light through the snow – warm like a campfire – don’t follow it..”

“Wait, hold up, but you lived ‘cause of it, right?” Kane protests. “It led you _onto_ August’s hunting trail.”

Herschel shrugs. “All I know is that the fire never existed, even though I saw its light clear as day. You take that as a good or bad omen, I won’t tell you which way.”

Kane frowns and sighs. Herschel stretches.

“It’s late,” Herschel says. “We should try to sleep. We can worry about Milan tomorrow morning.”

“Always the first to fall asleep,” Ivan jokes.

“Well, good night.”

“Night.”

“Yeah… night.”

Abel throws the door to his room open and storms out into the main bar area, wearing little more than his pajamas. He storms over to the table sitting just by his door and starts chewing out the poor group of bastards sitting there. Doggy watches this in quiet amusement from his place behind the bar.

Mickey glances over his shoulder at Abel and smiles. He traces the ring of his glass with a nimble finger. Doggy continues to make the Bloody Mary for Cheren.

“He’s got a lot of energy in him, doesn’t he?” Cheren muses. Doggy grunts noncommittedly. “Put in more of the spices, would you?” Doggy adds more of them in. “Have you and Ivan considered taking him out of hunting?”

Doggy looks up : eyes Cheren warily.

“I just mean,” Cheren clarifies, “he has a lot of skills that wouldn’t necessarily put him in harm’s way outside the fence. Have you taught him to mix drinks yet?”

Doggy shakes the drink lightly and doesn’t respond immediately. It’s only when he’s done shaking and begins to strain the drink into the glass that he says, “He’s a kid.”

Cheren hums. “Some kids grow up quickly. If I recall correctly, you certainly did.”

“I was an orphan,” Doggy scoffs. “An’ Ivan lost his parents. We made do.”

Cheren hums again and accepts his drink as it’s slid across the counter to him. He stirs with the celery stalk and holds out a hand. Doggy gives him the bottle of hot sauce. Cheren begins to add it to the drink. Mickey eyes the drink and frowns more and more as Cheren continues to add the hot sauce.

“I’m just saying,” Cheren shrugs. “It would be safer for Abel to mix drinks rather than go out hunting.”

“Ya tryin’ to say somethin’ about my job?”

“Not at all!” Cheren smiles at Doggy, but Doggy doesn’t return it. “But it’s safer inside the fence than outside. You’d rather have him live until the darkest days than die fighting to keep us from ever getting there, right?”

Something in Cheren’s voice doesn’t sit right with Doggy. Not when Cheren’s own husband is out far, far beyond the fences with Ilia’s group.

“Why’d ya send those four out to get Ishmael for you?” he asks.

“I couldn’t very well go myself, could I? There are things to manage around here.”

“Could’ve left Herschel in charge.”

“No,” Cheren frowns. “He will not be left in charge.”

Mickey turns away and bites his lip. He pushes his glass out for Doggy to refill. Doggy gives Cheren a last glare before taking up Mickey’s glass and busying himself in pouring another drink for the man.

The door to the bar opens, and Doggy glances over his shoulder to see Horatius wander in bundled up in layers upon layers of clothes. He raises a hand in greeting, and Horatius responds with an enthusiastic wave as he begins to take off his outermost layer. Mickey peeks over his shoulder at who it is, and Cheren sighs. He adds more hot sauce.

Doggy slides the glass to Mickey, who accepts it with shining eyes. Horatius reaches the bar about then, too, and takes a seat beside Mickey.

“You’re not here to drink, are ya?” Doggy asks, sliding his forearms onto the counter.

“Heavens, no! I amuse myself too much to need to assistance of liquor to reach my fullest potential. I am here, in fact, to speak with Cheren on the matter regarding all of our partners. Which, Cheren, I must say, I am not felicitous in regards to.”

Cheren hums. “I’m not sure I can follow a conversation as verbose as what you’ll give me.”

“Says he’s pissed ‘bout our partners getting’ sent on a wild fucking goose chase,” Doggy supplies. He scowls when Cheren turns toward him. “And I’m still wondering why I was left outta the loop. Thought I was s’pposed to be your informant. I need information to trade at the bar if ya want me to get information in return.”

“Are you dissatisfied with your business, Doggy?”

“The last group we had pass through town didn’t visit the bar once. You tell me if ya think I’m dissatisfied with the way things were run for that.”

Cheren chews on his celery stick. He doesn’t drop eye contact with Doggy.

“Actually, I need a drink for such a confrontation,” Horatius sighs. “My dear canine friend, fetch.”

“Ain’t a fucking mutt.”

“A tall glass of wine will do. I’m dreadfully thirsty.”

Doggy slides Horatius the glass of wine : something they don’t have much of. Horatius takes a sip and sighs. Doggy’s starting to think _he’s_ going to need a drink to deal with this.

Another customer comes over asking for refills. Doggy grabs the bustling tray and heads over to the table. It’s the group that Abel’s been pulled into, and he raises an eyebrow at Abel.

“You been stealin’ sips?”

“Of course not. I’m not old enough to drink.”

“Get your ass behind the counter and work the stove, then.”

Abel sneers at him and gets up from his stool. The guys around him crow with laughter, tossing him a mixture of good-natured insults and compliments. Abel sports a hot flush as he stomps off to the bar. A few of the guys crowd Doggy then. They tell him he’s got a ‘good kid’ and compliment him on moving in with Ivan – a recent development – with plenty of sniggers and suggestive jokes. Clearly, they’ve a few ideas of the nature of Doggy and Ivan’s relationship. Doggy excuses himself and leaves the table with the tray full of dirty glasses.

By the time he returns to the bar, Horatius and Cheren have begun arguing once more. Mickey sits quietly between them. His glass is empty again. Doggy snatches that, too, and waits for Mickey to nod before going to give him another refill.

“I have yet to gain enlightenment as to why you could not have simply instituted my darling Herschel as the temporary leader for this town in the weeks you went after your beloved. My darling is intelligent beyond you and would have made a fine temporary leader. It is simply your past disagreements that keep you from making such a wise choice.”

“You know nothing of my past with Herschel.”

“I know enough because my darling trusts me enough to tell me! None of what he has confided in me with would be enough for you to so foolishly make these sacrifices of others’ happiness and lives for your own gain.”

“You are walking a _very_ thin line, Horatius.”

Mickey nervously makes eye contact with Doggy. Doggy continues to refill the table’s glasses. He’d like to see where this argument goes and how Cheren reacts to these accusations before he steps in.

“Then, why don’t you confide in us, if you believe that our knowledge is insufficient to understand your decisions? Do you fear the retribution that will come when, unanimously, your followers determine your reasons to be petty and insufficient as excuse?” Cheren glares mutely at Horatius. “You have sent three of the town’s finest, most heroic men on a voyage to reclaim only your beloved from dear Ilia’s group despite the hellacious weather around us and the treachery of making voyage in the time when bear season and bandit season overlap. The fourth man you sent off is naught but a young _boy_ with two significant others at home.”

“I _said_ , Horatius, that you are walking _very_ close to a _very_ thin line. Do not test me.”

“I will test those that I deem unworthy of unquestioning loyalty!”

Cheren makes a lunge for Horatius in the same moment that Mickey and Doggy lunge for Cheren. They slam Cheren against the bar counter and hold his wrists down.

“Starting fights isn’t very nice,” Mickey says.

There’s a long silence that follows. Every single one of Doggy’s patrons have turned around in their seats to stare wordlessly as their bartender and informant, as well as their best hunter, pin their leader to the bar. There’s a few seconds where Doggy worries that a horrific bar fight is about to break out in his establishment.

Then, Abel steps out around the counter.

“All of you lot can fucking vacate.” The patrons stare at Abel. “I fucking mean it. Get out now, and your last drink goes off your tab.”

Every single man scrambles out the front door in less than a minute.

Abel turns to Doggy and shrugs. Doggy figures he’ll worry about how much the kid just cost him later.

“What are you going to do?” Cheren sneers. “Mutiny me? I know too much for that to be successful _and_ safe.”

Doggy tightens his grip on Cheren’s wrists. “ _What_ ,” he growls, “are you hiding from us?” Cheren remains quiet. “Our partners are out there. We deserve to know why you sent them.”

Horatius stands up from his bar stool and dusts himself off. “Otherwise, the moment dear Ishmael arrives, he will be told of all of the events that have unfolded this evening. You know how he detests such disunity in times of strife.”

It’s a stupid threat, and Doggy doesn’t think Cheren will even consider it for a second. But it seems to do the trick. Cheren relaxes in Mickey and Doggy’s hold before sighing.

“Fine.”

Doggy glances at Mickey. Mickey shrugs. They let go of Cheren’s arms.

The man stretches out his limbs where they were tugged and rubs at where his back hit the edge of the counter. “Fine, I’ll tell you,” he mutters. He picks up his drink and takes a long sip. Setting the glass down, he wipes his lips with a napkin. “But you must promise me that what I say will not leave this bar.”

“Bullshit,” Abel cuts in. “You’re keeping secrets from the whole town. Fuck you.”

“Abel,” Doggy warns. He raises a hand. “I need you to sit down somewhere.”

“Maybe you’ve forgotten, _Doggy_ , but I’ve been partners with Ivan longer than you’ve been back together with him now.”

Mickey winces.

Horatius scoffs. “Then, perhaps you would do well to review the history of events, young Abel, for Doggy has known and loved Ivan longer than you’ve known anything for a stable length of time.”

“I’m not a kid! I took down all of Central with Ivan only six months ago. Stop treating me like I’m a helpless kid just because I’m seventeen!”

“I will treat you as a child so long as your behavior is in accordance with such an age.” Horatius frowns at the fists Abel balls up. “Do you intend to fight me?”

“Stop.” They both turn to Doggy. “Just, stop. Now’s not the time for this.”

“Abel is a good boy,” Mickey reassures quietly. “Abel will work with us and help.”

Abel shifts his weight between his feet. “Whatever.”

Horatius sniffs but doesn’t say anything in response.

The four turn back to Cheren. Cheren finishes the last of his Bloody Mary. He slides the glass to Doggy, but Doggy doesn’t take it.

“I have reasons for keeping secrets,” Cheren starts. Abel scoffs. “The last time I left Herschel in charge of a place where I should have stayed behind, not only did August die, but so did many other of our companions. I do not trust him with leadership, though he remains a valuable second-in-command.”

Doggy closes his eyes. A petty fucking reason, indeed.

“In regards to the last group that came through here, their leader had some… disturbing news that he delivered to me. Upon hearing this news, I requested that he not have any of his men come to the bar nor fraternize with our members.” Abel and Doggy scowl, and Cheren raises a single hand in surrender. “It was in the town’s best interests. The information would have started a panic. I needed to time to think and strategize.”

“Well, then,” Horatius laughs, “please entertain us with this strategy you have occupied so much of your time with. It must be quite the concept.”

“There’s a horde of undead heading our way. Hundreds of them.”

The four of them recoil. Mickey’s hands begin to shake.

“As you know just by the number, there’s no way for us to fight them. They’ve already taken over many camps similar to ours. The group from a few weeks ago said that the horde is about two months behind them on foot.”

“So about a month now.” Abel kicks a chair and curses. “We’re a month away from a fucking horde of _hundreds_ of undead, and you were going to keep this a _secret_?” Abel hisses the last word.

“Again,” Cheren clears his throat. “A panic would not have helped matters.”

“Forget a panic,” Doggy argues. “This is a fucking emergency.”

“I know. It’s why I sent those four out to reconnect with Ilia, tell them of what’s coming, bring them back – _all_ of them, not just Ishmael – and we evacuate together.”

“Ivan knew this?” Doggy asks.

“No. No, only Herschel knows.”

Horatius falls into a chair.

Doggy grits his teeth. “You sent four hunters on a month-long journey to bring an entire group back _here_ so that we can flee together : without even letting them know the purpose of their journey? What if one of them gets sick? Injured? And they need to take an extra week?”

“Herschel would not dally.”

Doggy slams a fist onto the counter. “You son of a bitch. They’re a fucking week and a half out on a month-long journey. We have a month until the horde gets here _if_ they haven’t picked up speed and _if_ that group’s leader is accurate. You’re giving all of us a _fucking week’s_ worth margin of error.”

“Yes, that would be correct.”

This time, Horatius lunges for the man. Mickey catches him in time, and Cheren watches coolly as Horatius spits furious curses at him : struggles to get out of Mickey’s hold. Abel stands a few paces away shaking in rage.

“And what was your plan if they’re late?” Doggy demands. “If the horde gets here too early?”

“I have fair reason to believe that, in this weather, a horde will neither travel faster nor easier towards our location. We will leave a week in anticipation of their arrival, whether the party returns or not.”

“You’d be leaving them to die. Along with all of Ilia’s group.”

“We’re trying to survive an _apocalypse_ , Doggy,” Cheren says as if this acquits him. “Try to remember how dire the situation is for everyone.”

“You made my beloved _lie_ to me,” Horatius accuses. “Herschel may be reticent, but never does he refrain for confiding in me what plagues his mind. And you made him _hide_ from me.”

“That was Herschel’s choice.”

“I don’t for a second believe-”

“Believe it or not, Herschel has his own share of dark secrets and horrific decisions. We made this decision together. No one forced the other.”

Doggy sighs. For once, he thinks he understands a little of what Cheren means by that. He and Ivan have made pacts like that before. Back when they toured that old zoo together and, seeing that some of the animals still alive – slowly dying –put them out of their misery together. They hadn’t breathed a word to anyone about that : marked it off on the map as infested.

Mickey’s looking to him for some sort of leadership, but Doggy’s not sure he has any in him.

“Fine,” Doggy says.

Horatius and Abel look to him incredulously.

“I’m sorry, did you fucking not hear him-”

“I _heard_ him. And I’m saying fine. It’s too late to go get them, and it’s not like we’re gonna run early. _Fine_. We wait.”

“And the rest of town?”

Doggy works his jaw. He can’t believe he’s about to agree with Cheren.

“A panic is the last thing we need.”

“Unbelievable,” Abel scoffs, but his voice doesn’t sound so sure. “I’m not getting killed because you’re all dumb as a fucking stump.”

“Then leave,” Doggy tells him. “No one’s gonna blame you.”

He knows that Abel won’t leave : for Ivan’s sake. And, sure enough, even though Abel glowers at him, he doesn’t make a single motion to leave.

Mickey smiles a small ghost of a smile.

“I agree,” he says quietly. “Safest choice.”

Horatius grumbles in the back but doesn’t make any substantial argument to the contrary.

Cheren sighs. “Then, I don’t see reason for all this fuss.” He swings back in his seat to stare at the bar top and counters. “I trust Herschel enough to get this job done.”

The tone that Cheren has is still uncertain, though, and Mickey’s small smile vanishes. Abel says something and goes off to his room : a rare blessing. And Horatius asks for another drink.

Ivan wakes to the smell of smoke and the sound of a pot clanging a little too loudly for his taste. He throws the blanket off with a groan and hisses the moment cold air hits his skin. He grabs for the blanket to pull it back over himself.

There’s a snort to his side. Ivan blinks through the last fog and crust of sleep, rubs at his eyes, and squints up at Herschel.

“How long’ve you been up?”

“Not long,” Herschel answers. It’s a kind answer and not one Ivan readily believes. “We’ve a sick kid on our hands.”

Ivan immediately snaps his head around to check on Milan. He finds him asleep, face red with fever, and a small line of snot oozing out of his likely-congested nose. Ivan sighs. This really is the worst that could’ve happened.

Then, he takes that back. None of them are dead, and the blizzard didn’t get them lost forever. This is much better than many fates.

“Right,” he mutters. He checks where Kane’s still drooling : safe and sound in the clutches of his dreams. “Right, well… what’re we gonna do?”

Herschel continues to swirl the pot mutely. Finally, he shrugs.

“I have to keep going. But it’s up to you if you want to stay or come with.”

“What?”

Herschel doesn’t say anything more. Ivan frowns and pull himself up a little more. He wasn’t aware they were on a time crunch with this : other than the approaching winter.

“When are you leaving?”

“Soon,” Herschel replies. He knocks the spoon against the pot’s rim. Ivan sniffs and is greeted by the scent of ginger : wherever the hell Herschel got it from. “Before the sun’s up.”

“Shit. Is it still before dawn?”

“Just a little.”

Ivan pulls himself fully upright and curses at the soreness in his body. They’ve needed to sleep indoors for too long now. They should’ve just taken the horses : bears be damned.

He eyes the pot Herschel’s got going.

“Ginger tea?”

“I kept a knob in my pack in case something like this happened.”

“Well,” Ivan sighs, “better than nothin.’ We should probably see if we can find a town on the way back from Ilia’s to loot. Town’s running low on medicine. Or so Doggy said before we left.”

“Won’t have time.”

Ivan pauses and tries to read Herschel’s face, but the man’s a closed book as always. He stifles a curse and sorely wishes that Kane were awake to back him up a little.

“What’re we in a rush for?”

Herschel swirls the ginger in the pot of hot water silently. His eyes are dark even as they reflect the fireplace’s flames.

“It’s better to not say.”

“Bullshit,” Ivan scoffs, but he doesn’t put any bite into it. “You’ve got your two best hunters with you. There’s nothin’ ya can’t tell us.”

Herschel pauses and glances at Kane and Milan. He turns back to the pot. “There’s some,” he mumbles.

That doesn’t sound right to Ivan’s ears. He means it when he says that they’re the three main hunters. Mickey might be a little better than him or Kane, but there’s no one else that’d beat them at this game. Even Cheren’s gotten too comfortable behind walls to be as good out here anymore.

“What’s got you scared?”

“I’m not scared.”

“We both know that’s a huge ass lie. What is it?”

“What are you guys arguing about?” Kane groans. He rolls over under the blankets. “How early is it?”

Herschel and Ivan share a glance.

“‘fore dawn,” Ivan finally mutters.

“Aw, man.” Kane slowly sits up and blinks at them wearily. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Ivan snaps at Herschel. This time, there’s a little bite behind it. “There’s something you’re not bein’ honest about.”

“What?” Kane asks. Suddenly, he looks a lot more awake. “Wait, what?”

Herschel glowers at Ivan. Ivan frowns right back at him : seniority be damned.

“Hershey?”

“We’re on a tighter schedule than Cheren told you,” Herschel says with a tone terse and taut. “So I’m going ahead while you and the kid stay behind.”

“Wait, me? Ivan?”

“I’d understand if both of you wanted to stay behind for this one.”

“Woah, time out,” Kane begs. “We’re not dropping each other off the line like that. We’re all hungry, right? We’re just going to keep arguing if we don’t eat something. Is there any breakfast? Oh, wait, how’s Millie-”

“Sick,” Herschel interrupts. “You’ll need to stay with him while he gets better.”

“We can’t give him time?”

“Can’t,” Herschel stresses. “We’re on a tight schedule.”

Kane throws a cautious glance Ivan’s way. “O… kay? I guess I’ll stay behind, then. I know him a little better, after all.” He frowns when Herschel frowns. “Or… not? What’s going on?”

Herschel sets the pot down.

“I’m leaving soon. If either of you comes with, be ready in fifteen minutes.”

Ivan and Kane watch Herschel get up and move to the other side of the room, fiddling with their bags. Kane turns back to Ivan with a bewildered look. Ivan shrugs.

“I’ll stay,” Kane offers. “Idk what’s going on, but I _really_ don’t like high-stress stuff like this. Are you comfortable with that?”

Ivan sighs. He grabs for the pot and continues Herschel’s mediocre job at straining some of the ginger juice into the water for tea.

“Dude, I have no idea what’s going on. One minute we’re just getting this done like a normal mission, now we’re on a ‘strict’ schedule or whatever.”

“Are you okay going with him? No one should be going out alone.”

“I know that,” Ivan grits his teeth. “I don’t like leaving anyone behind, either. Maybe I’m just old, but I don’t like splitting up as a plan anymore.”

“You’re not _that_ old.”

“I’m turning thirty this year. Old enough for an apocalypse.”

Kane sighs. “Look, Van. Don’t worry about Millie and I. You just… you just make sure Hershey doesn’t do anything too big for himself, okaysies? If Millie gets better within a day or two, we’ll just follow after your trail and meet you up when you guys start to swing back.”

Two weeks is too long to be separated, Ivan’s mind supplies. It took two seconds for an undead to get Roy. It took two minutes for Red to almost finish both him and Abel off. Ivan doesn’t want to see what two weeks can do.

“I know you’ve been jumpy about group missions ever since, you know,” Kane says lightly. Ivan curls his lip. He doesn’t like others bringing up Roy. “But everyone’s situation is a little different, right? And Millie’s a _good_ fighter. You know he’s better than… you know.”

“You can say his name, you know.”

Kane winces. “Sorry. But Millie’s a good shot with a good head on his shoulders. I’m more worried about Hershey.”

Ivan doesn’t want to admit that he privately agrees. He keeps his mouth shut and glowers at the ginger.

“Alright,” he relents. “Alright, I’ll go with him. Take care of the kid?”

“Take care of the senior citizen.”

Ivan snorts. “Hersch’s not _that_ much older than I am.”

Kane grins cheekily.

Ivan would stand by what he said to Kane three days ago until his dying breath. But, shit, if thirty is old for an apocalypse, then Herschel’s on death’s door at thirty-six. And it’s showing a little, Ivan thinks. His old hip injury is acting up. Every morning when they get up, Herschel’s face contorts into pain he won’t voice. It’s getting harder to make the argument that the old dog is still capable of making winter hunts.

They move quick enough, despite this, though. They have to : according to Herschel. Ivan asks and asks what it is – what they’re trying to race – and gets nothing in return.

It’s starting to piss him off : angrier than he’s gotten in a while. They barely talk to each other save for the small dialogue they have to have in order to traverse the mountain ranges safely. A call of “Secure!” here and an “I’m over!” there, but nothing warmer in the middle.

Their goal for the day is the old ski resort on the top of Mt. Mallow : a rickety thing that was more a lodge than a resort back in the day. Ivan’s heard that Herschel’s lived in this area his entire life. It stands to reason he knows the terrain much better than Ivan. According to his campfire stories, he used to go skiing on this very mountain as a kid.

Ivan can’t say the same. His old home’s long and forgotten and so far away that it would be a fool’s errand to bother returning now. All the way in the flat countryside : miles upon miles of nothing but the wheat and the rolling hills and powerlines leading to more of nowhere. That was one of the only reasons that he and Roy hadn’t gotten infected during the first few months of the pandemic. It had taken a while for the virus to make it out to the countryside, where they only had eight people infected before suddenly – overnight almost – the entire town got it.

It’s still a mystery how he and Roy managed to not get infected when even their parents were already infected in their bedroom just over the course of that first, horrible night.

Ivan sometimes wonders how the city boys, suburb boys – whatever – managed to escape the pandemic’s grasp. Cheren grew up in a proper city with asphalt sidewalks and all, and Herschel grew up in these spotty towns amongst the mountains. Ivan’s heard that Yuri came from the city, too, along with his childhood friend (who ate it three summers ago, now that Ivan recalls).

“Stop spacing out,” Herschel snaps from the front.

Ivan blinks. Then, he gets angry. “I wasn’t spacing out,” he snaps right back. “I was just thinking. Are you gonna tie the knot or what?”

Herschel glares up from where he’s re-securing their guide rope for the trek up the mountain : snow displaced enough it could easily cause an avalanche. He finishes the knot with a particularly aggressive tug.

“Let’s just go.”

“You lead.”

It’s a miracle that the blizzards have stopped, Ivan thinks as they continue to slip and slide, sometimes tumbling downhill for feet before regaining balance. The snow is impossibly unstable, and any more might actually be costing them their necks. Soon enough, they start going tree to tree just to give themselves a small break by leaning on the trunk.

The sun dips close to the summit as they continue uphill.

They pass under the old snow blowers and listen to the resort’s ski lifts creak in the wind. Foxes run about in the distance and stop to stare at them.

“I’ve never been up this way,” Ivan admits once he grabs onto the bark of the tree that Herschel’s waiting at. “How big’s the lodge?”

“Small.”

“But like… are we expecting trouble?”

Herschel shrugs and sets off. The sun dips below the summit, and the shadow swallows them whole.

“I’d be more worried about the undead.”

“Are there many up this way?”

“Lots of bodies in the snow.”

What he means by that is a mystery. But he catches onto the fact, quickly, that Herschel is keeping what exposed skin he has high above the snowline. And, now that Ivan thinks about it, Herschel had put on two extra sets of pants this morning on their way here. Clearly, there’s something he doesn’t know about this place.

They make it to the top just past sunset on that side of the mountain. The earliest stars twinkle in the skies overhead as they haul themselves over the snow and into a corner of the deck. They pull out their guns in unison the moment they hear a groan from nearby.

“I’ll take the west side of the lodge,” Herschel suggests.

“‘Kay. Meet back here in ten? No shots.”

Herschel shrugs. “Horde wouldn’t be big enough to overwhelm us if we did fire.”

“ _No shots_ ,” Ivan demands.

If they do this quiet-like, they won’t even have to worry about a horde all at once.

“Fine.”

Ivan crawls around the east side of the building and sees the broken glass where some have gotten inside : sees the others milling about the snowy deck. One of them’s scored itself a rabbit, it seems. Ivan curls his lip in disgust.

It’s a little hard to take them all out by knife. The last three on his side – that he can see, at least – all come at him at once, and he’s forced to shoot them down. In the silence of the lodge afterwards, Ivan can only guess that Herschel’s taken out all the rest. Nothing jumps out from the shadows as he checks the rest of the rooms.

Herschel doesn’t seem impressed when Ivan returns to their meeting place.

“I thought you said no shots.”

“There were three at once, dude. I wasn’t going to risk getting bitten for something like that.”

“Whatever. There’s a main lodge room – an old bar – that we should probably use as base for the night. The windows are intact, and it’s got doors.”

“Fine, lead the way.”

Pulling off their boots by the fireside feels better than Ivan could have hoped. They only have about an hour before they have to put out the lights. They can’t risk unwanted eyes coming up the mountain after that fiery glow of life. But in the small window of time, Ivan is _determined_ to enjoy himself by the fireside.

He heats up a bunch of pots of snow and watches them melt into drinking water. He and Herschel can’t drink fast enough to quench their thirst. They end up going through two whole pots before they start dinner.

And then, once dinner’s cooked, the fire goes out, and they huddle on the floor behind the bar top with their pots of hot water – covered in blankets – as heaters for their makeshift bed. The water will go cold eventually, but, for now, it’s almost like they have a stove to themselves.

The warm food helps settle their tempers, too. It’s just stale bread and rice – and a jar of pickles – but it’s enough.

“How do you think Kane and Milan are holding up?” Ivan muses aloud. He crunches through a pickle slice from the jar. “I’m worried about the whole bandits thing.”

“I’m sure they can handle themselves for two weeks.”

“I guess.”

They eat in silence.

“You grew up ‘round here, right?”

Herschel pauses mid-bite. Then, he crunches down on the bread crust.

“A long time ago.”

“What was it like for you? Back before the apocalypse? Fuck, back before the pandemic, too.”

Herschel sighs. “Strange to remember we used to just call all this a ‘pandemic,’” he hums. “I don’t know. It was like most mountain towns, I guess. Young people ran away, if they could. The losers had no choice but to stick around. The old people bemoaned a dying town that they never laid the groundwork to have preserved.”

“Yeah?”

“Your town wasn’t like that?”

Ivan thinks back. “No, it was. But… I dunno, it was different, too. I was gonna stick around for a little bit, at least. Fuck, I had just started applying to the railroad yard to work car maintenance when the pandemic happened.”

“For some reason I always thought you were a college kid.”

“No,” Ivan laughs. “No, I never got the chance. Figured I’d let my parents keep savin’ up to send Roy off instead of me. Fat fucking good that did anyone.”

“Well,” Herschel reasons, “it made it so you were home with him and not off in a college town when the pandemic happened. You’d be dead if you were near a college.”

“Campuses were hit first, weren’t they? Wow, weird to think about. You just stuck around here the entire time?”

“Here and there,” Herschel agrees. “I was two months north of here when I met August. Back then, I thought if I kept going north, eventually the undead would just freeze.”

Ivan snorts.

“You traveled far to get here, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Ivan sighs. He leans back a little in the bed and pushes the pickles jar over to Herschel. He’s done with those for the night. “I dunno. Maybe two months south… east? Rural areas : wheat and shit.”

“Wheat and shit.”

“Well, considering all the manure, yeah.”

“The pandemic didn’t hit you that hard, then.”

“Not for a while… Then it did. I dunno why I thought we’d have a better shot in the city. But I dragged him out of these once shit hit the fan, and we ended up in the closest dinky city we could get to.”

“The place before you met Cheren?”

“Yeah. Met Doggy there, though.” Ivan snickers at the memory. “Ah, man. That brings me back.”

Herschel screws the jar lid shut and pushes it out of the way. They lay together in the darkness in an easy silence. Wind buffets the windows.

“Just another two days,” Herschel sighs. “And then we’re in the home stretch.”

“Hope you’re right.”

Herschel hums into the darkness. Ivan hears him start to quietly snore a few minutes later. In the darkness of the lodge, Ivan’s left to think before sleep claims him.

He thinks about that day he met Doggy : the way he’d gotten swindled _hard_ by the fucker. But also the nervous way Doggy eyed his waist and ass like the horny teenager he was. The way, years later, they had really started to be _friends_ and the bomb that Doggy had dropped on him a few months before Roy died : that Doggy was still crazy for him. And everything that followed.

Ivan closes his eyes and rolls onto his side. He wonders how Abel and him are holding up in that dumb bar of Doggy’s. He and Herschel are far enough out that it must get darker earlier back home. Ivan wonders if they’re already asleep or if they’re up late serving booze and bar snacks.

He can almost see it in his head : the warmth of the hearth, the charcoal stove under the far table, Doggy’s broad shoulders and rough hands pouring a drink dainty-like as if he were one of those high-end bartender ladies from a movie. The thought makes Ivan snort.

Two more days, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Herschel -- Hisoka  
> Kane -- Kazunari  
> Mickey -- Misumi  
> Milan -- Masumi  
> Cheren -- Chikage  
> Ishmael -- Itaru  
> Sammy -- Sakuya  
> Yuri -- Yuki  
> Ilia -- Izumi


End file.
